


Pieris Angelika

by HamearisLucina



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Anal Sex, Attraction, Blow Jobs, Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Dorks in Love, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Medical Conditions, POV Yuri Plisetsky, Shameless Smut, Slice of Life, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-16 12:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14811317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamearisLucina/pseuds/HamearisLucina
Summary: Yuri has synesthesia and Otabek helps him realize white is also beautiful.





	1. Colorful

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by one lovely older friend who has also found the love of his life by her colors. 
> 
> My first language is not English and I have no beta, so forgive me for any odd/wrong part. :)

It was in the first term of 2010, when he got on the main stage of Saint Petersburg University to welcome new students, that I realized there was something more than special about him. The first thought that came to my mind at that very moment was the crackling of a lit fireplace, and then I simply knew. Homey.

I was completely fascinated by the man with the amazing Kazakh accent, and I knew precisely why. To me, every single person had always been the same: purple, green, blue. Their voices always of the same colors. All cold, all devoid of life. Otabek Altin was still mostly unknown to me, but he was also fascinatingly different. He had all the colors. He  **was** a thousand colors and many more colors that I could not even count. There and then I knew he was it for me because he was so breathtakingly colorful. 

On that stage, he became the ruler of colors. Of all of them, not a single exception. Hot and cold, light and dark. There he was, being everything I could never even dream of, burning his image so deeply into my mind. I - a simple and non-noteworthy graduate student of the Arts department - was completely mesmerized by the president of the Graduate Student Association. I - who up to that point had been completely unaffected by the cold and banal voices of the green, blue, and purple people and was there purely out of obligation - found his metaphors about insects and hardworking students deeply interesting because of his unique voice. A voice so full of life that it inundated my insides with a wave of soothing warmth. 

The event was already over the moment we crossed paths for the first time, on the auditorium stairs, amongst the small chaos of excited conversations between students and professors. Those brown eyes, intense as I had never before had the pleasure of witnessing, smiled at me with the same lulling sound of a lit fireplace. My thoughts almost gave way to the earthy smell of his perfume, but I was able to shyly put on one of my watery half-smiles when he offered me a sincere and simple welcome that tasted like hot chocolate.

“My name is Otabek Altin, but I think you already know that,” he smiled at me again while he offered his right hand, brown eyes crackling so loud I had to take a deep breath to refocus my thoughts.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” I shook it as firmly as I could manage. His skin was even warmer than I expected of his earthy complexion, completely inviting.

“It is very nice to meet you, Yuri.”

“Equally,” I said in a tiny voice. The way he languidly said my name made me shuffle on my feet. 

“What brings you to SPBU?”

“Restoration of Fine and Applied Art Objects, just the most interesting thing,” I cringed internally at my awkwardness and inability to keep a decent conversation. He looked a bit puzzled.

“I think it’s very nice,” he said and silence slowly crept in. Fuck.

“Well, I get to see a lot of old naked marble people on a daily basis, so there is that,” I chuckled a bit and lowered my head, trying to conceal my very prominent blush with my long fringe. What a smooth attempt at humor, Plisetsky. Good fucking job.

Somehow he laughed out loud. “I guess that is sexier than staring at six-legged small creatures for hours on end,” he added and I thought of any way to keep the conversation going.  I wanted it to go on so so badly.

“Entomology, huh? What drew you to it?”

“I don’t know for sure, to be honest. I think maybe the huge span of possibilities was what lured me the most. Insects are about the most diverse class you can find in biology, yet they are all still insects. They all belong to the same kind. I think it is beautiful in a way.  And, of course, there is also a lot of colors.”

“Color?” I could not even hide my curiosity. I knew shit about insects and all, but colors were my hard earned territory.

“Yes! Insects are beautiful, they have so many different colors! Sometimes it’s pure color, sometimes it’s mixed, people don’t even realize all the beauty that is out there” he seemed so excited about this simple fact that I could not help but smile sincerely at him. “But... I am probably boring you to death with this geeky talk, I am truly sorry.”

“Not at all, Otabek. I’m very much into this color thing, I am an art student after all,” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and bit my lower lip almost unconsciously, out of pure nervousness. I noticed that his eyes followed my movements and took a deep breath. I was not socially inept by any means, but certainly also not that comfortable with small talk. Just a little awkward and kind of an outlander to interaction, I would say. “I’d love to see them sometime.”

His eyes lit up. “I can surely show and tell you all that you want to know, it will be my pleasure…” he was about to keep talking, but someone called his name from some steps below and gestured for him to go down. “That is my advisor, so I kind of have to go. I hope you forgive me,” he said that while scratching the backside of his head.

“It’s fine, I understand completely.”

“I hope I'll be seeing you around, Yuri! Give me a call if you need anything. From finding the office to figuring out someone’s time of death, I mean it” he joked and I laughed. 

Then, he took my right hand in his and I absolutely froze. I could feel an even stronger blush spread from my cheeks to my collarbones and he certainly noticed it too. My face was burning. His fingers lightly touched my palm as he simply slid his business card into my hand. I was surprised that he had a business card, it made him seem so mature and responsible.  _ Otabek Altin, Environmental Specialist, _ it read against an elegant blue background. Just below were his e-mail address and a phone number.  

He smiled again and that was all, completely innocent. Just like that he left and there I stood, slightly dumbfounded. Me and my whiteness. My white voice, my white smile; so white and extremely far from being particularly notorious or somewhat striking in anything aside from my looks. And still, I could feel his brown eyes following me, glued to the back of my head as I went down the stairs. Going down the forty-seven steps left no longer seemed a simple task with the lingering of his warm voice still taking over my thoughts.

At the bottom of the stairs, I turned around to observe the sea of color that was the people in the auditorium. So many blues, greens and purples and a single colorful one, chatting with some first-year graduates on the thirty-fourth aisle. Unexpectedly, he was still stealing furtive glances at me.

Me, as bland as water. Him, as enticing as fire.

Even though my own major proved it wrong, some say that white is the product of a mixture of all colors, so I caught myself wishing that my water-like personality somehow turned into a combination interesting enough to sharpen all his fire-doused senses. Wishing that the fire in his eyes, the colors of his presence and the earthiness of his smell would mingle until whiteness. My whiteness.

Looking at his striking strong figure, I began to put together an inventory of what little I knew about Otabek Altin: Ecology student, Environmental Specialist, president of the Graduate Student Association, definitely from Kazakhstan, intense warm brown eyes, homey, insanely attractive, and, most importantly, very colorful.

In the midst of my brief daydreaming, we locked gazes again. For the first time in my life, I caught myself aching for something. I felt strangely alive. Then and there, I wished with all my soul that my so very white essence permeated his inebriating polychromatic existence. Then, with some courage that was completely not mine, I smiled my whitest and largest smile.

Then I melted when he shot me a bright, gigantic, and colorful smile back.


	2. Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by one lovely older friend who has also found the love of his life by her colors.
> 
> My first language is not English and I have no beta, so forgive me for any odd/wrong part. :)

They told me I was definitely different, but would be able to lead a normal life. I was about 9 years-old when I figured no-one but I experienced sight and hearing stimuli triggering smells and tastes out of the blue. What they did not tell me was that the funny looks I got when I asked my classmates if they could also hear rain hitting the window when the teacher used a blue marker on the board were the embodiment of an estrangement big enough to be forever engraved in their childish minds. 

It was the only time I moved schools, and also when I learned that my condition - which, as I would a little later in life learn, is called synesthesia - was something better kept private to a certain extent, to the risk of becoming an attraction or the main target to silly experiments regarding words and colors. One can only endure a set (and short, I want to add) amount of time having random words being shouted at oneself with the hopes of eliciting any sort of reaction.

My grandfather insisted that being a synesthete made little to no difference at all in a day-to-day scenario, and it was nothing to freak out about - and he was right to think so. Nevertheless, I could not help but feel a little bit detached when not a single soul I knew had even the slightest understanding of what I was going through.

Firstly, I could not help but get distracted by random, yet occasionally very strong colors and subsequent unrelated trains of thought popping up while I heard certain things. Sometimes, it was the reverse process: confusing associations starting with colors and ending with specific sounds. My absent behavior at first led to a lot of theories and speculations amongst my teachers, classmates, and family, notably dyslexia and ADHD. None of them were true, of course. Synesthesia is hard enough to diagnose, let alone have average people know about and understand it.

Secondly, I could not get past the fact that every single person I met was coldly colored and utterly uninteresting. They were all banal to me and I treated them accordingly, even though the response to such treatment was sometimes unpleasant. Funny thing, I used to think, because I was not uncivil by any means (except for the occasional swearing, but one cannot be perfect after all and it was mostly not directed at other people anyway), just honest in my lack of enthusiasm. 

It also did not help that synesthesia disturbed my skating, at times severely so. Competitions were especially unnerving for me. Audiences were almost always very quiet, so, for the most part, I did not have to worry about auditory stimuli apart from those I got from my own music. Choosing carefully was almost always enough, even though sometimes I would get stuck in specific parts of songs. However, as quiet as they were, audiences still sported damn colorful clothing and flags. So, I had to skate with my eyes completely closed, to the risk of spotting some specific shade that could make me lose my focus and miss my consecutive steps. This meant having to be extremely precise with the extents of my movements and very familiar with the ice I was skating on. One certainly did not want to mess up a move and lose points due to lack of space.

However, the most difficult part of the whole synesthesia process for me was definitely understanding that I could be different from others in this aspect, yet extremely bland and ordinary at the same time. As I grew older, my differences were no longer exciting enough for peaked interests to last that long. If part of being a synesthete for me was assigning people colors - actually, less assigning and more perceiving -, I could not help but note my own color was, unfortunately, pure boring white. Moreover, aside from experiencing these crazy sensory reactions, I was very much an ordinary Russian man: pale skin, blonde hair, green eyes. Nothing noteworthy about that. 

Being white and dull myself, I was pretty sure the people I offended with my indifference felt the exact same boredom about me after the whole initial "oh my god he is a synesthete, so cool" stage - and with reason, I might add -, but simply were hypocritical enough to not show it. Make-believe was an ability I definitely did not possess. In the end, I just had to accept the fact that I was somewhat detached from my peers and that would be my eternal position in the world - and so I did.

That was exactly the reason I was debating myself internally while staring at the business card in my hands. I had already established that I was kind of an outsider and I was completely fine with that fact, yet I had somehow struck an amicable conversation with a gorgeous man that had ultimately given me his number some days before. This fact alone was freaking me out a little bit because it was so out of my comfort zone; however, it was also making me very excited. I wanted to text him so bad, but I was scared to do so.

I opened the messenger app and stared at the glowing screen. I started typing a funny opening line but immediately deleted it. I started over, deleting it again soon after. Not sounding like a dumbass was so much harder than I thought. 

After some very hard overthinking, I finally gave up on trying too much and sent him what I felt was fitting.

 

_ Hey, Otabek! This is Yuri. How is it going? _

 

It took him a whole seven minutes to answer.

 

_ Yuri! It’s so nice to hear from u! :) _

_ I'm doing great. What about u? _

_ I’m fine, thanks! _

_ Sorry I had to run away like that, but one can’t simply ignore their advisor... hehe _

_ Np at all! W _ _ hat are u up to today? _

_ Going out for drinks w/ some friends. U? _

_ Just chilling at home w/ my cat. :( _

_ We r meeting in 1h. Wanna join? :) _

 

I froze. He was inviting me out. After a total of four texts. There were other people involved, so it was not a date _per se_ , but somehow that fact made me even more nervous. How was I supposed to act like a normal functional member of society in front of others? In front of Otabek Altin’s friends of all people?

 

_ Sorry if that was a little bit too forward.  _

_ I think they would enjoy meeting u. :) _

_ And I'd love to hang out with u. _

 

I noticed that I had been staring at the screen for almost 5 minutes, unsure of what to say. Three dots popped up on the screen, but soon disappeared. They did it again. And again. His phone must have shown him I had read his text and he probably thought I was too taken aback by the invitation. To be honest, I was a little. Actually, a lot. I was kind of freaking out inside.

 

_ I would love to go. :) _

 

I sent the text before I could screw anything up and immediately buried my head in my pillow, screaming as loud as possible to discharge my tension. Holy shit!

 

_ Awesome! I’m so glad! :) _

 

I struggled a little bit to breathe while I tried to focus. Interestingly enough, not because of stimuli, but because of a thousand butterflies suddenly invading my stomach. 

 

_ So, where should I meet u guys? :) _

_ I was actually thinking of picking u up. What do u say? _

_ That works for me! _

_ Great! Send me ur address and I’ll pick u up in 45. _

 

After a severe freak out that lasted quite a long time, I was faced with the reality that Otabek was picking me up in 32 minutes and I had to somehow make myself presentable. Luckily enough, I had just taken a shower and dried my hair, but I scrambled with my clothes. Ultimately, I decided on a pair of black leggings, a red loose tank top, black combat boots and my well-worn battle jacket. I figured Otabek and his friends would not be intimidated by a handful of harmless death and black metal bands. 

I sat in front of my mirror, choosing to stick with simple makeup for I did not know Otabek’s friends and their opinions on guys wearing makeup. Some stupid bands were one thing, but make-up was a completely different deal. Obviously, Otabek was at least bisexual, but his friends were another matter and I did not want to push my luck. I simply lined my eyes with a discrete wing, choosing to accent my long eyelashes instead. I also applied a little bit of tinted lip balm.

I stared at myself. Presentable, I would say. 

I was adding some braids to my hair when I heard the low rumble of a motorcycle outside. I ran to my window in time to catch Otabek turning off the bike and taking his helmet off. I swallowed hard because not in a million years I would have imagined him on a bike. It suited him wonderfully though. Could one man get more attractive?

I gathered my things and ran downstairs, stopping by the living room to tell grandpa I was going out with a friend for some drinks. The expression of surprise that went through his face did not go unnoticed by me, especially because I knew grandpa had never seen me hang out with someone outside of a school project situation. He offered no resistance, whatsoever.

“Hey!” I said closing the door behind me. 

If I though Otabek Altin was gorgeous back in the school’s auditorium, on top of that fucking bike he was looking like a god. He was everything, with his multiple colors flashing more than ever. His somewhat serious clothing from before had been replaced by a much more relaxed outfit. He was wearing dark wash jeans that had rips and chains on the side, and, to my surprise, mid-calf combat boots with some spikes. However, what caught my attention the most was the Behemoth t-shirt and the black leather jacket he was wearing. Could a person be more perfect? I seriously doubted.

“Hi,” he smiled, obviously checking out my battle jacket. I turned around to show him the big Nile patch on the back. Favorite bands have to be shared, after all. “Nile? Nice!”

“So, a bike, huh?” I faced him again and approached the motorcycle a little bit uncertain. It looked very sexy and all, but I had never been on one. 

“Yeah,” Otabek turned it on, startling me a little. It was louder than I expected but it did not elicit any specific sensorial reaction. Good. He did laugh at my little jump though, although his expression rapidly shifted toward concern. “Are you ok with it?”

There they were again. The small crackles of a fireplace that accompanied his brown eyes; eyes that were newly dotted with worry. I had to allow my mouth to drop open in a small circle and inhale sharply when the realization came over me. To me, each color had their set associated sound and they had remained completely immutable until that very moment. Brown had always sounded like the purring of a kitty, but not anymore. Not his brown. His shade was homey, inviting and comfortable. His brown was the crackling of firewood.

“Yuri? We can always catch a cab if you’re not comfortable.”

“I think I’ll be ok,” I snapped out of my trance, hopping up behind him. I put on the helmet he passed me and held on the back handles, his sound gone with no visual clue, but still spinning in my mind. 

I was not prepared for what happened next. Not in a million years. Otabek reached behind him, resting his leather-clad gloves on my elbows. He started sliding them down slowly and I held my breath. Then, he held my wrists gently, tugging my hands away from the handles to wrap around his waist. The action made me slide forward a little and suddenly my chest was very much in contact with his back.

I was a hundred percent sure I would pass out and die right there from lack of neural response due to sensory overstimulation but he turned the handle and we were off. It took us 10 minutes to get to the bar. To me, it was 10 minutes of nonstop intense warmth mixed with remnants of crackling and shades of brown and a shit ton of confused and confusing thoughts. It was extremely hard to keep concentrating on holding onto him and I think he noticed I faltered my grip sometimes because he would immediately slow down when I did so. When he finally parked, I gave him the helmet back. I noticed that he made an effort to touch my fingers before taking it from my hands.

We went inside and, as soon as Otabek waved to his friends, I knew I could have put on fiery red lips and they would not even have batted an eye. They were sitting on a large square table that interestingly enough had a pole (as in  _ pole dancing _ pole) right at the center: four men and two women, all coldly-colored. The four people who were waving obviously paid no mind to the two guys who were kind of intensely making out on one side of the table. I had watched enough gay porn to be able to handle the excitement of the moment, but it still was a sight to behold.

“Hey, guys,” Otabek said. “This is Yuri. He just started his masters in SPBU.”

“Nice to meet you,” I waved shyly, showing them the best smile I could. The music was kind of loud, so I had to shout a little.

“Our beloved Otabek finally brought someone to drink night! And he is gorgeous, Beka! Apparently, there is something about the name Yuuri that makes people attractive,” the silver-haired man deadpanned and I just wanted to stick my head in the ground like an ostrich. Firstly, I had no clue what he was talking about, even though I was fairly certain a ton of people were called Yuri in Russia. Secondly, I had never been directly called gorgeous by someone before and I did not know how to react to that kind of comment.

“Yuri, this ridiculous blab is Victor,” Otabek started, scratching the back of his head in that special way that made his muscles flex very attractively. This time they were appropriately accented by his leather jacket. I swallowed hard, suddenly in need of something to drink. “This is Yuuri. They are together,” he pointed toward the raven-haired guy sitting beside Victor and suddenly things made more sense. The Yuuri person waved at me with a big smile and I reciprocated. He seemed sweet.

“Nice to meet you, Yuri. I hope you like SPBU,” he was obviously not from Russia. Actually, aside from Victor, no one on that table seemed to be Russian. Yuuri’s accent was very heavy, but I could understand him perfectly. “I’m Japanese, in case you are wondering.”

“Hello,” I said timidly while we sat down. Otabek and I were across from the couple making out and I tried hard not to stare.

“Those two are Chris and Phichit, you’ll get to meet them eventually. When they let go of each other, you know. Those are Mila and Sara. Mila is also Russian, Sara is Italian.” 

“One more for the SPBU team!” Mila said, raising her arms. “What brings you to the University?”

“I study Restoration of Fine and Applied Art Objects.”

“Cool! I study Art Criticism!” Sara said with a genuine smile. I could not help but smile back at her as well. “I think we’ll be seeing each other often then!”

Conversation picked up again and Otabek turned to me, asking what I wanted to drink. The moment he stood up to go to the counter, I felt cold. I shivered, going down the distraction path once more - and this time, not because of synesthesia, but because I felt some kind of strange longing. I did not realize Phichit and Chris had untangled until Sara touched my hand to recover my long lost attention and I was introduced to the couple by Victor. I apologized, grounding myself again and preparing for comments, but they just kept on talking. 

It was weirdly amusing to hear Russian being tossed around the table without much effort, especially when Victor, Mila, Otabek and I were the only native speakers there. I took my time to notice each accent and their particularities. Phichit’s was the cutest by far. Also, his skin had an orangey undertone that, naturally, sounded like the sweet scratching of colored pencils against fine paper. Nothing too extreme to take away my attention though, just pleasant enough to distract me a little from my unexpected cold sensation.

“Hey,” Otabek handed me a simple vodka tonic and responsibly stuck to a can of Coke. As soon as I heard his voice again, I felt that delicious wave of soothing warmth invade me once more and crackling happened for as long as he held my gaze. Homey.

“Thank you,” he sat back down and our thighs touched. “Oh,” he chuckled nervously, scratching his head again. Apparently, it was a habit of his - a very sexy one, I might add.

We were caught up in a very funny conversation about a summer trip to Tahiti and Victor being attacked by and running away from the very diverse local fauna. From what I could gather, the seven of them had been friends for the longest time and had more than enough funny stories to share. Otabek, however, was strangely jittery beside me. They probably did not realize I noticed, but he and Yuuri were exchanging very significant and pointed glares.

“Are you ok?” I lowered my voice, poking him in the arm before taking another sip of my tonic.

“Yuri, I’m going to be very honest with you,” he swallowed hard and I tensed up immediately. “It is just that... You make me a little nervous...”

I almost choked on my drink. “I make you nervous?” I repeated his words, accenting the pronoun like an idiot while my eyes widened.

“Very much so. Especially in this outfit, it makes you look so incredible,” he breathed slowly, fidgeting with a napkin and shaking his head a little. “Actually, I have been meaning to ask you out since we met, back in the welcoming event. Hopefully, I’ll get the chance to spend some time with you properly, only the two of us.”

“Are you serious?” there I was, as smooth as fucking sandpaper. I could sense the disbelief in my own face and he noticed, also widening his eyes.

“I am one hundred percent serious, Yuri,” he said without a hint of playfulness in his voice.

I sat there in silence, looking into his eyes and searching for any sign of insincerity. I could not find one and this fact alone warmed my heart almost as much as the sound of his voice. For the first time, I felt like I could actually have a shot with someone who was right and it felt so so good.

“Yes,” I smiled as wide as I could. 

“What?”

“Yes. I think we should go out again, properly or whatever you call it,” I don’t even know why, but I offered him my hand. He held it without protest, lightly running his thumb over my knuckles.

“Thank you” he whispered, resting my palm on his thigh to keep on toying with my pinky finger. Otabek seemed much more comfortable and relaxed after that, chatting with his friends with no reservation and caressing my hand at the same time.

I had to look twice after trying to steal a quick furtive glance at our hands. My eyebrows rose involuntarily. Where Otabek had touched my skin with his fingers, his colors were left as residual traces, almost like the strokes of a brush on watercolor painting. And he was leaving more and more marks. It puzzled me that the streaks were lighter than what I saw on him, but the second grand realization of that day suddenly hit me and for the second time I was so surprised I had to take a deep breath: it was because his colors were mixing with my white background. Still, it was obviously his mark. His colors. On me.

It was such a sweet moment. My body was very warm from his lovable voice, my heart was pounding loudly in my chest, my hand was all colored, I was slightly airy. And, of course, Otabek was there too, close, comfortable, responsive. Homey.

Yes, I was different. But, at that very moment, for the first time, I felt that different could maybe be good.


	3. Tenderness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by one lovely older friend who has also found the love of his life by her colors.
> 
> My first language is not English and I have no beta, so forgive me for any odd/wrong part. :)

Mon Coeur S’ouvre à Ta Voix was blaring on the rink speakers while I tried to pour my non-existent sensuality on the ice. The song Lilia chose for me could not have been any more wrong, but she insisted I was more than able to make it work. In the piece, Dalila was attempting to seduce Samson into spilling out the secret to his strength while responding to his pleas of love. How was I, Yuri Bland Plisetsky, supposed to convey all that emotion and raw passion in a single skate?

These solitary skating moments were by far the worst for me. Having Lilia there - even if I could not see her when I had my eyes closed - helped ground me and keep my distractions away, pushing for the best possible rehearsal. Without her, it happened every time the damn song reached the second verse of the chorus:  _ Ah! réponds à ma tendresse! _ Every time the singer would pronounce  _ tendresse _ , tenderness, I would get bombarded by red, which then became strawberries and red velvet cake and a string of thoughts that would result in the ultimate loss of my focus. I was beginning to get very frustrated and frustrated Yuri was not a pretty sight.

I stopped my sorry ass attempt at practicing, resting my hands on my waist and breathing slowly. I needed to relax before losing my temper over a simple skate. Skating was something I had done countless times in my life, so I did some laps to calm myself and prepared to try again. The song restarted and I began to skate along with it.

One, two, three. Counting somewhat helped me, albeit not always. One spin, two steps, three rotations on the axel. And then came the chorus combined with the toe-loop, the redness, and me tripping all over myself. I fell flat with my back on the ice, sliding as a complete fool.

“Oh, fuck me!” I shouted in frustration at the ceiling, hitting the ice with a closed fist. How I could manage a perfect axel and immediately fuck up a dumb toe-loop was beyond me.

“Hm… I’m sorry to interrupt...” someone said and I must have jumped a good five inches out of fright because the back of my head hit the ice again with a very audible and very painful _ crack _ . 

“Ow! What the fuck!” I scrambled to sit and regain the smallest fraction of the dignity I had just lost. The voice was unmistakable - and so was the warmth that once again inundated me. But what the flying fuck was Otabek Altin doing in the ice rink at the very time it was reserved for me? A very-early-in-the-morning time, at that. “The rink is reserved,” I said, lightly scratching the back of my head. It was hurting like a bitch.

“I know, I am sorry to disturb you, Yuri.”

“No, no, no!” I was quick to fix my mistake as soon as I realized it could have sounded ruder than I intended. “It’s not that you are not welcome to stay. I just don’t have enough space in the rink to share with you.”

“No worries! I just need to run to the changing room real quick, I’m not going to keep in your way for much longer. I forgot my skates there yesterday and I really really need to clean them today if I don’t want to have my head literally severed by my coach during practice,” of course he also scratched the back of his head, but out of embarrassment I supposed. Damn body, damn flexing muscles, boy.

“Oh, you skate too?” I almost jumped to my feet and slid to the edge of the rink. I cleaned my hands on my pinkish skating costume and smiled a little. I felt good wearing it because it made me look somewhat less conventional.

“Me? Oh, no, no. My thing is hockey. You do skate though, I saw it,” Otabek was playing with his thumbs. He seemed almost… nervous again? Why this time?

“This was more of an attempt, really. I can’t seem to get this piece right past a specific part of the song. It’s so frustrating.”

‘Attempt? You are kidding, right? You just nailed a very cool jump. Talk about impressive! I can’t even spin that fast.”

“I fell flat on the floor!” I laughed a little.

“Still! I think it was one of the most impressive things I have seen to this date, really. I mean, I have never seen a skate in person and I don't actually follow ice skating at all, but... Well, actually, I do see people skating all the time, I am a hockey player after all, but hockey doesn’t have this kind of artistic quality and this very alluring type of clothing...”

“Otabek, you’re rambling,” I deadpanned and immediately clamped my hands over my mouth. What the fuck, Yuri! He had just called me alluring and I went and ruined it.

“I'm sorry,” he looked like a puppy who had just been caught doing something naughty. 

“No, no! Don't be! I can't seem to control my big mouth sometimes.”

“Well, I'm gonna go grab my skates then,” he was sad. I could sense it in his voice.

“Ok…”

Away he went, leaving behind that strange feeling of emptiness. I wanted to be close to Otabek, as much as a moth longs to be close to the light, but I did not know how. So I simply stood at the edge, waiting for him to return.

“You can keep practicing, I'm not going to bother you anymore,” he said when he saw I had not budged from my spot on the side. His skates were hanging by their laces on his shoulders, black and shiny. My pair was white, of course.

“Will you stay?” I asked with a voice so low even I struggled to hear it over the sound of my track still on loop.

“I'm sorry?”

“Will you stay? Watch me skate?”

His body language, which had been completely stiff and tense before, relaxed considerably. “Of course, Yuri. It would be a pleasure.”

I smiled, assuming my position at the center of the rink. Otabek was watching me. I had the attention of the utmost object of my desire. Disappointment and mistakes were not an option at that moment.

Lilia had idealized the program in a way that I could seduce my audience. At that moment, I realized I had never had an audience I wanted to seduce - and maybe that was exactly what was lacking in my performance. I did not have the motivation to seduce and so I did not. Maybe that was my opportunity to embody Delilah and seduce my Samson into spilling the secrets of his soul to me.

I had to wait a little bit before the song restarted, but it happened soon. With eyes closed, I spun, opening and closing my arms like a swan. From the start I knew had never given a routine so much before; I had never been so ardent before. Not even in a competition. I was so entranced I almost did not see it happen. One spin, two steps, three rotations on the axel. Immediately after came the  _ tendresse _ and a smooth toe-loop. I finished the choreography with the most beautiful Biellmann spin I could manage, embracing my body as elegantly as possible. No red, no strawberry, no distraction.

I looked at Otabek still panting and he seemed completely dumbfounded. His jaw was slightly dropped and his hands were glued to the railing to the point of his knuckles being a little white. Internally, I cheered so loudly I could almost feel the ringing in my ears, but tried to play it cool.

“What do you think?” I skated close to him, positioning myself on the other side of the railing.

“Yuri.. I… I don't even know!”

“At least I did not miss my jump this time. Lilia said this routine is supposed to be about sensuality and I have been struggling with that, to be honest. She says it's the perfect choreography, but I don't think the whole enticing theme fits me well.”

“Trust me, it does. She is so right. I don't think I have ever seen something so inviting,” his eyes were so soft. Funny that he decided to use to word ‘inviting’ to describe me because it was the perfect word for him with his frame, his crackling eyes and all. 

Then, I had the wildest idea. My heart started beating so fast I thought I might pass out, but I extended my hand to him anyway, palm facing up. “Skate with me, will you?”

He took it immediately, not faltering for a single second. His expression shifted to something so amazing I can't even begin to describe how fascinated I felt. He kissed the inside of my wrist gently, turning my hand with care only to kiss its backside too. Warmth. Greater than I had ever felt.

“It will be a great pleasure,” my legs were so wobbly I had to hold the railing when he let go of my hand to put on his skates. After I stabilized myself, I took a moment to reach my phone and change the song that was still looping.

Otabek stepped on the ice and almost immediately reached for my hand. We started doing warm-up laps both out of habit and to make the sweet moment linger a little more before it was inevitably broken by conversation. 

“I don't usually do pairs, but this should be fun,” I decided to break the silence after a good five minutes. 

“You have to guide me here, this is completely beyond my abilities. Hockey does not involve any of this... stuff,” he gestured largely with his free hand.

“Definitely no death spirals and throws then, but I'm sure you're more than strong enough to lift me. It can be a start.”

“Cool! Let's do it!”

“Ok! What you need to do is basically throw me up so you can hold me by my thigh and ankle. I'll do sort of a Biellmann on the air. Watch out for the blade, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I have absolutely no clue what a Biellmann is, but I'll follow your lead I guess.”

We skated a little more together to gain some momentum and Otabek had the easiest time lifting me up - and actually holding me with straight arms instead of the usual folded configuration. His grip was gentle but firm on my thigh and ankle, so I was able to smoothly pull my other leg well over my head while we spun around the rink. 

“You did it so well! Amazing!” I said letting go of my leg while we were still moving.

I thought he was going to let me down as was usual with pairs, but Otabek stopped spinning and let go of me so fast I let out a scream of fear. Of course, his arms were there to stop my fall, on my back and behind my knees, bride-on-her-honeymoon style. I had the most widened eyes in the world, but we started laughing hysterically. 

“You jerk!” I hit his chest playfully. “Almost gave me a fucking heart attack!”

“Couldn't help it!"

That kind of conversational silence crept in as we looked into each other's eyes. I say conversational because my head was a festival of nice crackling sounds. Still, it was exactly the kind of silence that denoted some kind of unresolved and palpable romantic tension. Something was happening there and I was equal parts freaked and desirous. So I slid my hand to his neck, marveled at how well it fit on its crook. His eyes darkened because of the widening of his pupils and the crackling grew fainter.

“Have I answered to your tenderness, Delilah?” he asked in a low voice and I had to shiver. Holy shit.

“Yes, my Samson,” I licked my lips and it took him exactly two seconds to kiss me.

The feeling of Otabek sucking lightly on my lower lip was so good I moaned. He bit me softly in response. I was more than eager to open my mouth for him and soon our tongues were together. I used both arms to pull myself closer and he let me down, hands immediately gripping my waist while my feet barely touched the ice. 

I can't recall how much time we spent like that, getting to know each other's mouths. I only remember that, when we separated, I was more than panting when he rested his forehead on mine. While he stroked my lower back fondly and I rested my cheek on his chest with closed eyes, I wondered how it was possible to feel so much affection for a person I barely knew.

“Yuri?” I opened my eyes as a response to his whisper, but we did not make eye contact, keeping the position. His arms hugged me tightly. “You're the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for the slight delay. Finals happen for everyone. :(
> 
> For the sake of this story, let's pretend that the ISU decided to allow songs with lyrics well before 2014. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Be prepared. This will be a work of domestic smut with almost no angst.


End file.
